


The Return of Sherlock Holmes

by Joe_Reaves



Series: The Steampunk Adventures of Sherlock Holmes [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Angst, Episode - The Empty House, Episode Related, Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Character Death, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-15
Updated: 2010-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 23:23:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joe_Reaves/pseuds/Joe_Reaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes returns to life after three years and draws Watson into his fight against an inhuman foe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doctor Watson

**Author's Note:**

> A mixture of book canon and Granada TV canon, set in my own AU.

Despite my long acquaintance with Holmes, I rarely felt the need to write about mysteries these days. It was always Holmes I wished to chronicle, never the crimes themselves. My partner, no, that is presumptuous of me as Holmes was always the Master and I a mere apprentice, the Boswell to his Johnson as he so often said. My companion was always the focus of my tales, his incredible mind and his lightning quick deductions things that I felt should be recorded for posterity.

Occasionally, there were cases which intrigued me enough to spark my interest, but since Mary's death, they seemed fewer and farther between. Even the case I was currently investigating would probably have slipped past me if the elder Holmes had not sent me a note suggesting that it might be worthy of my time. I half suspect his intention was merely to try and draw me out of the dark cloud that had surrounded me since I had found myself the sole survivor of our unusual trinity.

The loss of Holmes had almost destroyed me, but Mary had been there, always at my side from the moment I had arrived back in England, supporting me in her quiet, certain way. With Mary gone as well I felt adrift in this city that I had called my home for so many years. And then the note had arrived, written in the elder Holmes' distinctive script, and delivered by one of the Baker Street Irregulars. After Holmes' death, his brother had taken them under his wing and encouraged their education in much the way Holmes had always done, and they repaid him with unending loyalty and the kind of blind admiration that only boys can muster.

But back to the case at hand. It was a locked room mystery, a man killed in his own study, the door locked and the windows firmly barred, and no disturbance of any kind visible in the room. His family and servants hadn't heard a thing and he was not discovered until the next day when the maid had been unable to enter the room to light the fire and, after receiving no answer and learning that the master of the house was nowhere to be found, the butler had kicked the door down. Only for the shocked servants to find his lifeless body slumped at his desk. According to the doctor who had examined him, he had been strangled.

I doubt even those facts would have held my attention as long as they did if not for the fact that it was the third such case in as many weeks and Lestrade, who had welcomed my presence at the scene as easily as he had always welcomed Holmes', had met nothing but dead ends in his search for the perpetrator.

It was thus that I found myself in a small park, if you could call it that, being just a scrap of grass and a few half-grown trees surrounded by wrought iron railings, across the road from the house where the latest murder had occurred, just as the sun sank below the houses that ringed the square. All the murders had happened at night and I could not help but wonder if the way the lamps illuminated the victim's study had had something to do with the killer's choice of prey that evening. From the park, you could see clearly the silhouette of the policeman who had been stationed in the study on Lestrade's orders and at my request.

Sighing, I left the park. My hypothesis that the victim would have been easily spotted from the park had been proven, but I could not see that it brought me any further towards the discovery of the perpetrator or his motive. Taking my leave of Lestrade, I hailed a hansom cab and used the short journey home to try and gather my thoughts. I wished I had even a tenth of Holmes' skill at deduction and I felt his loss even more keenly than usual as I paid the driver and made my way up the steps to my lonely home.

However, it seemed tonight was not to be as lonely as I had expected. My housekeeper greeted me at the door with a worried expression, wringing her hands as she explained I had a visitor who simply would not be put off. She had told him I was not at home and she didn't know when I could be expected to return, but he had insisted on waiting for me and had made himself at home in the sitting room, ordering tea as if he were the master of the house rather than an uninvited guest.

I hung my hat and coat on the stand by the door and marched into the sitting room, ready to give my guest a piece of my mind, but I had barely got two steps into the room when I froze. There was something in the bearing of the stooped man that teased at the edges of my mind. He stood with his back to me, staring out of the window and even though my mind was racing, trying to explain the sudden feeling of inertia that had deadened my thought processes, I still had the presence of mind to close the door behind me.

When I turned back to my guest he had straightened up, gaining nearly a foot in height, and discarded the bulky coat and the wig, which had prevented my conscious mind from knowing what the subconscious had so readily recognised.

I could feel my vision starting to fade and I barely managed to choke out a single word before I crumpled insensitive to the floor in the first and only faint of my life.

"Holmes!"


	2. Sherlock Holmes

I crossed the room in two strides, catching the good doctor before his head could suffer an unfortunate encounter with the floor. Picking him up was the work of but a moment and I was momentarily shocked by the physical proof of what I had already observed. While never a portly man, Watson had always had a certain solidity to him that seemed as much a manifestation of his stalwart character as mere anatomical fact, but in the three years since I had seen him last he had lost a significant amount of weight.

Whilst I could attribute some of that to his recent tragic bereavement, I feared that more of it than he would wish to admit to was due to my own alleged demise. I regret the necessity that had forced me to gently lead the good doctor to his inevitably false conclusions about the incident at Reichenbach, but at the time my deception had seemed necessary. Indeed it had seemed like the only option remaining to me. Even now I could not think of an alternative, and if Sherlock Holmes cannot come up with a solution to a problem after three years, then one does not exist. I was not, however, confident that my companion would be of the same mind or be able to forgive me the grief that I had caused him.

Three years ago my deception had been an impulsive act, which may strike those of you who have followed the good doctor's fascinating, if somewhat embellished, accounts of my investigations as strikingly out of character, and perhaps you would be right, but I had no time for lengthy contemplation upon my course of action. I had time only to conceive the plan and then act upon it.

When Moriarty had seized me, intent on throwing us both over the edge and plunging us to what I had, at the time, assumed would be certain death in the roiling waters of the Reichenbach Falls, I had used all the skills in the martial arts that I had learnt as a youth to ensure that his fall would be a solitary one. However, I soon realised that if he wished me to die, then he was probably not alone in that desire. It would be one thing to go along and risk my own existence; that was a threat I believed I could live with, but such despicable villains would hardly be inclined to avoid innocent casualties along the way.

I speak of course of the good doctor himself, my chronicler, my companion, my Boswell, Doctor John Watson, and his enchanting lady wife. From our first encounter, when I admit I had inclined towards the baser emotions, most specifically jealousy as she seemed to draw Watson's attention away from me and towards herself, I had learnt to appreciate her for the truly remarkable individual she was.

Somehow, without being told of it specifically, for I know Watson would never betray our secret, no matter to whom, she understood the deep bond that had grown between the two of us and yet she never felt threatened by it as I had done by her growing closeness with my doctor. Instead, she was willing to share his affections with me quite happily, allowing us a freedom we had not before had to let our bond grow while remaining hidden behind a façade of respectable married life. Where before there had always been the threat of suspicious eyes turning on our bachelor existence, now our relationship was clearly marked as merely a professional one, with, of course, a natural friendship arising from it, with Watson going home to his respectable wife at the end of the day.

I could perhaps have allowed myself to hazard Watson's life, as I have done in the past during our investigations, but to take the chance that the machinations of my enemies would encroach upon his domestic situation and thereby risk Mary's life was unthinkable. So, as I watched Moriarty disappear into the foaming waters of the Falls, I made the fateful decision to allow Watson, and thus the world, to believe that I had fallen with him, while in fact I remained prostrate upon my rock, looking down on the doctor and his companions as they searched in vain for any sign of my continued existence.

But now she was gone and I had returned, as much in danger of my life as before, if not more so, as evidenced by the damnable events that were taking place in London under Lestrade and Watson's watchful gaze. Yet I was as incapable of staying away from my good doctor as a needle is of straying from the northern most point of its compass.

I laid him on the couch and loosened his collar, wetting his lips with brandy which I had hastily poured into a glass, and then I waited, my gaze steadfastly resting on his face, for the moment when his eyes would open and light on me once more. I would know then if there was even the slightest chance of earning his forgiveness for my betrayal or if my impulsive act, and the three years of silence which had followed it, had cost me his regard forever.


	3. Doctor Watson

The taste of brandy was the first thing that penetrated my unconscious mind, swiftly followed by the feeling of long, delicate fingers stroking my brow, fingers I had never expected to feel again. I forced my eyes open, unwilling to believe that the sensations could be real and looked straight into the piercing gaze of Sherlock Holmes. A very much alive Sherlock Holmes.

For a brief moment I allowed myself to feel unadulterated joy at seeing his familiar countenance once more, but it soon faded, to be replaced with darker emotions. Sitting up, I brushed his hand away dismissively.

"In God's name, man, what happened to you? Why did you allow everyone to believe you were dead for so long?" Why did you allow me to believe you dead, I wanted to ask, but despite my indisposition and the fact that he must have carried me to the couch like a swooning maiden, I still had my pride to consider and I would not sound like a grieving widow in front of this man who I had mourned so strongly and who had deceived me so cruelly.

His eyes slid away from mine briefly before returning and he affected an air of studied indifference that would most certainly have fooled anyone else save perhaps his brother.

"Really, Watson, how many times have I instructed you not to theorise in advance of the facts? There was never the slightest piece of conclusive evidence to say that I had fallen along with Moriarty and yet you leapt magnificently to the precise conclusion I had expected you to, my dear Doctor."

Feeling the need for activity, I leapt to my feet and walked over to the window, staring out into the darkening streets. "I had forgotten how damnably tiresome you can be when you choose, Holmes. Perhaps, on this occasion, you could forgo the word games and just answer my questions. It has been a trying day and I'm afraid in your absence I have become too dull-witted to solve your puzzles."

"Could I prevail upon you to draw the curtains and step away from the window first?" Holmes asked, his voice still cool and emotionless. "While they cannot provide a whit of protection from the evil currently stalking the streets of London, I see no good reason to offer it an invitation either, and with the table lamp illuminating you, you're currently presenting a rather delectable target to our malevolent friend." Suiting actions to words, Holmes brushed past me and tugged the curtains closed before taking my wrist with uncharacteristic hesitancy and urging me back towards the couch.

"So your return is due to the locked room mysteries that your brother directed me towards?" I narrowed my eyes and watched him carefully. "Am I right in presuming that although the invitation to investigate them came from the pen of one Holmes the thought behind it came from another?"

"You are theorising again, Watson," he said sharply. "And no, the suggestion that you involve yourself in this diabolical case did not come from me. I would have stopped Mycroft if I had known what the meddling fool was up to. And I have not returned to London because of the case. In fact, you might say that the case has returned to London because of me."

"What the devil are you talking about, man?" I hesitated, my skill at reading between the lines of what Holmes said and what he didn't slowly returning to me. "The fiend who is perpetrating these monstrosities followed you here from … wherever you've been. You're afraid he's watching the house at this very moment, aren't you? Wouldn't it make more sense for him to be watching your rooms, wherever they are, rather than mine?"

Holmes sighed and pulled out his pipe, a favourite distraction of his when he did not wish to look someone in the eyes. The tobacco came from a nondescript box rather than his old Persian slipper and, as a wave of nostalgia for our comfortable rooms in Baker Street enveloped me, I found I rather missed it. "Alas," he replied softly. "I fear it is far more likely that he is watching you and waiting for my inevitable appearance. In all of London, there is only one place he could guarantee I would eventually be found, and that is wherever you are, my dear doctor."

Closing my eyes against the swell of emotion his words provoked in me I took a deep, calming breath. "I believe this is a conversation we should continue in the utmost privacy and, if what you say is true, then no doubt Mrs. Barker will be safer elsewhere. I shall enquire as to whether dinner might be stretched to feed two instead of one and dismiss her for the night and then I shall return." I looked him directly in the eyes as I continued. "And you will not move until I return or I shall hunt you down and now that I know you have not perished as I believed, you will find that you cannot so easily escape me a second time. I may not have your intellect, Holmes, but you'll find I'm a tenacious opponent."

Holmes laughed hoarsely, finally raising his eyes from his pipe to meet mine. "I have never doubted it, Watson. It took death for me to be able to elude you last time, and I should not have faith in even that to keep you from following me if you set your mind to it." He waved his hand dismissively. "Now go and deal with that wretched housekeeper of yours and do keep her out of my hair. I found her a most disagreeable personage."

It was my turn to laugh, with much more openness than Holmes had. "She has the same opinion of you, Holmes."


	4. Sherlock Holmes

The look Watson had given me when he regained consciousness was heartening and it had lifted my spirits quite considerably. His eyes had rested on my face and for a moment his expression had shown nothing short of pure joy at seeing me again, but then it was gone, locked away beneath his anger and his hurt and his natural disappointment in me.

It certainly wasn't the first time I had hurt and disappointed the doctor with my behaviour, but even I had to admit that my disappearance was perhaps the most grievous sin I had committed against him in the years we had known one another. His joy, though, inspired a flicker of hope that even this could be forgiven with time.

While I awaited his return from dealing with the damnable harpy he calls a housekeeper, and never have I appreciated Mrs Hudson more than during my encounter with the harridan who guards the good doctor's door, I explored his sitting room. I had, of course, already done this while I waited for him to return, but I needed the activity and I feared if I didn't find some purpose to direct my energy toward then when he returned he would find me pacing like a nervous bridegroom.

The room was large, larger than the sitting room we'd shared in Baker Street, and during the day the windows at the front made it seem very light and airy. The bookcases naturally contained several medical tomes, including a well-thumbed copy of Grey's Anatomy that I'd gifted the doctor on his birthday one year, but also a diverse collection of volumes on geography, ornithology, botany, and of course a complete record of all the cases that my chronicler had recorded for posterity. The chairs were comfortable and clearly designed for the larger frame of a man rather than a woman and the drinks cabinet was adequately stocked, if a little less extravagantly than I could have wished.

A photograph of Mary sat on the mantelpiece and I ran my fingers thoughtfully along the frame. It would have seemed to many people as if the only thing Mary and I had in common was our affection for the good doctor, but in truth I was sincerely fond of her in her own right. She was intelligent and well read, and didn't squander that intelligence by filling her head with inconsequential trifles as most women seem wont to do. She also had a remarkable perception when it came to other people and could switch from offering sympathy to sharply cutting through the cloud of despondency that could surround someone and hauling them bodily back into the real world without batting an eyelid and I admit I'd been on the receiving end of her blunt common sense more than once. I also freely confess that I had deserved it on every occasion.

I had not loved her the way Watson had, in fact I sometimes wonder if I am capable of loving anyone other than my dear doctor like that, but I did care for her in my own way and the tidings of her death had almost tempted me back into the embrace of the cocaine I habitually used to ease my black moods, but the danger was too great and I could not take the risk of being caught by my enemies while under its spell. I hadn't used the drug since my 'death', something of which I'm sure the doctor would heartily approve, and in truth after the first year I had ceased craving its ease. I doubted I would go back to it now, unless things went so badly in the next few days that I no longer had a reason to resist it.

I was so absorbed in my contemplation of the photograph that I didn't hear Watson's return, or possibly my subconscious simply catalogued his arrival as being too benign to alarm me. However it happened, he surprised me, his solid hand landing on my shoulder and startling me into an abrupt movement which would have sent the photograph crashing to the floor but for his swift reactions.

"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" he asked softly, perhaps not truly expecting a response.

"She was," I agreed. "And not just surface beauty, but inside as well as out. I am sorry I could not be here in time for the funeral, John. By the time the news reached me it was already too late."

"Should I simply dismiss it as mere coincidence that you have finally returned so soon after ..." Watson swallowed hard and could not finish the sentence and I could no more resist the urge to try to offer him some measure of physical comfort than the sun could choose not to rise in the morning.

I rested my hand on his forearm and squeezed it gently. "I am truly sorry, my friend." Words seemed of such little value right now that wasting any more of them would have been pointless, so I contented myself with silence and kept hold of his arm, taking my own comfort in the fact that he was allowing me this measure of intimacy.

"I know you are, Holmes, and I do appreciate it, but I am tired of dancing around the subject. Tell me what happened to you at the Falls that day and why you chose to let us all think you perished; and then tell me why you have returned and what you want with me." He turned away from me and poured us both a drink before settling in his chair and gesturing for me to begin.

Standing before Watson, trying to marshal the words to explain my deception felt very much like being back at Cambridge and taking my final exams with the professors all ready to argue with my every word. Tonight's viva voce would be far more significant.

I chose to keep my description of precisely how I had achieved my ends brief and to the point, wishing to concentrate instead on the causes of both my deception and my reappearance and the salient events from the intervening years. I fervently hoped that the details of those years could be shared in a more leisurely fashion in the days and weeks, perhaps even months, to come.

"At the time I believed Moriarty so intent on my destruction that he was willing to end his own life to achieve it. It did not seem inconceivable that he would have acolytes ready to make further attempts if he failed. You must understand, my dear fellow, that had I felt there was any other option I would not have inflicted such a bereavement on you, but I feared that Moriarty and his men would not take the care to ensure that I was the only person to suffer from their schemes. I feared there would be innocent victims." I looked him in the eye, hoping to convey my very real distress at the pain I know he must have endured on my behalf.

"As usual, you are heedless of your own safety," Watson muttered. "For someone with such a towering intellect and an arrogance to match, you can be remarkably self-sacrificing sometimes, Holmes."

"Not so heedless, Watson. I am here and still in one piece." I held my arms out from my body as if to demonstrate that I was healthy and alive.

"Yes, you are, aren't you?" he mused. "And back in London, although the shadow you feared still seems to follow you. The danger to yourself and others is still there and yet you have returned. Do I finally have a say in my own destiny, Holmes, or will you make the decision for me again once you have whatever you came back for and simply disappear?"

I could not abide being apart from him any longer and I crossed the room in long strides, dropping to my knees next to his chair and resting my hands on its arms next to his. "The only thing I am seeking in London is your forgiveness, my friend. I do not deny that I would give everything I have to keep you safe, but I will not insult you by treating you like a child or a woman and taking that choice from you. It is your life to choose to hazard or to protect and I will abide by your decision, whether it is to help me or toss me out into the night, only I could not risk Mary like that and I would not have you choose between the two of us." I bowed my head and awaited his decision, feeling the weight of his silence pressing heavier upon me with every passing second.

Eventually, I felt his hand on my face as he tilted it gently upwards again so that he could look into my eyes. "For a genius, you can be remarkably foolish sometimes, Sherlock."


	5. Doctor Watson

For all that Holmes is terribly fond of grand gestures, the emotion behind them is always sincere, so I was in equal parts touched, gratified, and horrified by the sight of him kneeling at my feet. Touched and gratified because Holmes demonstrates he loves me perhaps once every three or four years, and horrified because it just seemed so wrong for this arrogant and superior individual to have been brought so low.

I knew why he hadn't wanted to make me choose between him and Mary. It hadn't been done for any altruistic motive, but rather because while he is one of the most arrogant and self-aggrandising men I have ever met, Holmes is paradoxically lacking in confidence when it comes to the more prosaic issue of relationships and could not countenance the idea that I might have chosen him. I am relieved that he spared me that choice as I suspect I would never have forgiven myself whichever one I had chosen.

I pulled him towards me and brushed a soft kiss of forgiveness against his temple "If you ever do something like that to me again, Holmes, I will not be responsible for my actions."

"Never," he swore fervently. "I give you my word, John. As long as it is in my power I shall never deceive you like that again."

I smiled against his hairline. "I find my ability to interpret Holmes-speak is returning rapidly, my friend, and I cannot help but notice that you did not promise not to deceive me at all." I pressed a finger to his lips when he pulled back to speak. "No, I shall not endeavour to extract such a promise from you. It would be unfair to deprive you of the opportunity to play your little games during our investigations and I find I miss watching you play conjurer and pull a rabbit from your hat at the opportune moment. But I shall take advantage of your unaccustomed rush of sincerity and ask you to finally tell me what manner of fiend has pursued you these three years and what it has to do with the case of the locked rooms."

Holmes nodded and gracefully rose to his feet again. "Penance? Although if it is I feel I am being dealt with remarkably leniently. But I shall do as you wish, my dear Doctor, and give you the full account you deserve, although I do not think we have time to cover every moment of the last three years tonight."

"Sit down, Holmes. For tonight I shall be satisfied with the salient points and some idea of how you plan to capture this monster. There will be time enough for you to share your account of our time apart when your pursuer is no longer cutting a swathe through London society." I found myself quite light-hearted now that Holmes had asked for and received my forgiveness for his transgressions and the familiar anticipation of an intriguing case brought to a satisfactory conclusion was filling me, an emotion I had missed greatly in the absence of my great detective.

Dropping into the other armchair, Holmes leant back and steepled his fingers together, taking on his well-used persona of showman, and I found that for once I did not object to his performance in the least.

"The Case of the Locked Rooms, you called it? Will that be the title when you record your romanticised version of this little adventure?" Before I could reply he waved his hand. "It is of no matter, I shall discover that when it is published no doubt. You wished to know the identity of this heartless fiend, but I believe I shall keep that to myself for now and see if you can deduce it yourself. If you really have become dull-witted as you claim, I shall need to sharpen you up again, for I cannot have an accomplice who is anything less than brilliant. It would not do at all for Sherlock Holmes to be seen in the company of a dullard."

His eyes were twinkling and I was gratified to see it. Only now when he was weaving his tale and leading me towards the denouement did I realise how unlike himself he had been as he awaited my judgement. Assured of my continued affection, he had reverted to his old self and it pleased me to see it. "A backhanded compliment if ever I heard one," I told him, still smiling. "But knowing you as I do, I shall take what I can get and be satisfied with it. I fear that if you were ever more direct in your praise I might not survive the shock."

"Then I shall do my utmost not to shock you," he promised with a lightning-quick flash of teeth. "However, we were discussing the murders. I have often told you that when you have eliminated the impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. The assailant is clearly not entering and exiting via the more usual means of a door or window, perforce he must have another way of entering a locked room. I wonder if you have heard the Eastern European legends of a creature of the night that can thin itself almost to smoke? The creature in question can also turn into a bat or, I have heard, occasionally a wolf, however we can safely ignore those abilities for now as neither of those creatures has the ability to pass through a bolted window or a locked door."

"Come, Holmes. You're surely not going to delve into the realm of fairy-tales and legends now? Am I to believe that you intend to drive a stake through the killer's chest when you apprehend him?" I shook my head. Holmes often wandered down some strange paths in his musings before revealing the killer, but expecting me to believe in vampires was a step too far.

"I'm afraid I am deadly serious, my dear boy, in every sense of the word. The vampire is no horror story conceived to alarm the credulous; they are very real." He leant forward, endeavouring to impress me with his sincerity and I hesitated. Holmes wasn't averse to having his fun at my expense on occasion, but I could see no reason for this deception, especially in light of his earlier promise.

"You truly believe in immortal blood-sucking beings? Do you have any idea how many rules of basic human anatomy a vampire would contravene?"

Holmes laughed and shook his head. "My dear doctor, how I have missed you. I know that you prefer to believe only that which you have seen with your own eyes, but perhaps, just this once, you would trust to the evidence of mine. I have seen and fought more than one vampire in the last three years and they are as real and alive as you. I cannot vouch for their immortality, but I can assure you there are few wounds they cannot instantly heal. They can turn to mist, they have inhuman strength and they are faster than you could believe, but they are not invincible. I have ascertained through trial and error that many of the myths surrounding these creatures have little or no basis in fact, but others are true." He looked me in the eye and slowly unfastened his collar, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it aside so that I could see a livid scar on the side of his elegant neck. "And I can give you a first-hand account of their feeding if you so wish it."

His eyes dropped from mine again as I stared at the ugly wound with horror. "And is this … monster who is stalking London the same one who left that mark on you, Sherlock?" I asked, ice creeping into my voice as I contemplated what might have happened to my companion and what I would do to his assailant were I ever fortunate enough to have it at my mercy.

"Watson, if you must plot vengeance against the foul creature, perhaps you could at least listen to the rest of what I know about it first? You look ready to take your service revolver and hunt it down this very night." Holmes smiled indulgently and I looked shamefaced at being caught. I should have known better than to think he would not know every thought in my head.

"Before you continue, tell me: do you have any other wounds that I should see? I am your physician as well as your friend." I tried to fix him with a stern glare, but I fear I merely managed concerned rather than authoritative.

"I have no recent injuries, my dear Doctor, and any wounds I do have, have already turned to scars and are, as such, beyond even your medical abilities. The wound on my neck pains me only because of the contamination, not for any other reason."

"Contamination?" I asked in alarm. Surely this monster could not spread its condition through its bite like a contagion.

Holmes shook his head. "You're theorising again," he said, smiling slightly. "But you're partly right. I presume you fear I shall turn into a monster, but if you were using your formidable intelligence instead of your overly sentimental heart you would realise I should not have returned if that were the case. I would not endanger you in such a fashion. Vampires can procreate by biting their victims, but they need an exchange of fluids and while the fiend drank from me, I did not consume any of its vile blood. However, it has imbued me with certain uncomfortable characteristics." He rubbed at the scar thoughtfully. "I can feel when he is near and while I cannot read his mind, unfortunately, as that would be a consequence that was almost worth the pain, I can sense things from him. I fear that this connection runs both ways, which is why I had to try and put a great distance between us. I caught an airship to return home and for the first time since I was bitten had the comfort of knowing I was safe. Once the ship took off I knew no one else could board until we landed and that for those two days I could sleep in peace. But he knew I would come to London eventually and he has followed me here. I fear he may choose to stalk you to locate me."

I left my chair and crossed the room to perch on the arm of Holmes' seat. Gently I ran my thumb over the scar. "I am confident that together we will overcome this monster and end your connection to him. Pray, tell me how he can be killed, for I will not let him touch you again while I still breathe, my dear Sherlock. If he wishes to finish what he started and create the world's first vampiric consulting detective, I will make sure he has no time to regret his folly before I put him in his grave. Permanently this time."

"Oh, Watson." Holmes chuckled but he leant into my touch. "My most stalwart protector. A vampire can be killed by removing the head or by penetrating its heart with silver. Traditionally this is done with a stake of some kind but I believe we have a better method unless you have disposed of the silver bullets you had made up some years ago?"

I nodded. "I still have them. I shall load my revolver with them and carry the rest in my ammunition case. What of other legends? I had heard of sunlight and our perpetrator does seem to hunt at night, but perhaps this is merely coincidence?"

"Not coincidence, but not evidence of a fear of sunlight either, my friend. Simply a manifestation of the same desire most criminals have not to be apprehended. Running water causes them great pain and they cannot cross it or heal while submerged in it. I have also heard that if you scatter grains of rice the vampire is compelled to collect them, but I have not had occasion to test the theory and would not wish to rely upon it. Symbols of faith, such as a crucifix, can also repel them, although the belief behind the symbol is the important thing rather than the symbol itself. It matters not whether the bearer is Christian, Jewish, or Buddhist, as long as the symbol truly represents something in which they have an unshakeable faith. Similarly such symbols may inhibit a vampire from entering a building but only if someone with faith in them is within; an empty church is no barrier to the creatures and likewise a Christian would find sanctuary within a mosque to be worthless unless there were true Muslims alongside them. The fiend pursuing me is a master vampire. He has been on my trail only for the last twelve months, before that it was his minions I was trying to evade." He smiled secretively in the way he has just before he reveals the key to a mystery. "Can you perhaps guess the name of our dark adversary, doctor?"

I frowned. In order to answer that it must be a name I had already encountered for Holmes had mentioned no names in his narrative at all. He said he had been hunted for only a year, but if the vampire's allies had been pursuing him for longer then it must be someone who had known him for many years, since before his disappearance if it was a name that I would know as well. I was about to admit defeat and allow Holmes his small triumph when something else had had said registered and I gasped.

The monster had only been in a state to harry him for the last year because before that he had been indisposed … submerged in the waters of the Reichenbach Falls perhaps.

Even as I opened my mouth to share my revelation, Holmes nodded approvingly. "Congratulations, my boy, I see you have deduced his identity. Three years ago I believed he despised me enough to lose his own life in taking mine; for the last year I have known that there was little chance of that happening for he could not die from so simple an accident as falling from a great height. He took two years to escape from the Falls, but since then I have been constantly on my guard lest he corner me once more. And now I fear it is time for our final encounter. With your aid however I believe we shall prevail and Moriarty will be sent to meet his maker. This time, as you say, permanently."


	6. Sherlock Holmes

As I leant into Watson's touch I could feel the nervous energy that had sustained me the past three years beginning to ebb away. I knew I would need that energy until the fiend Moriarty was defeated, but in Watson's warm sitting room, with his comforting weight pressed against me I felt too safe and protected to remain so alert.

Watson must have sensed my growing lethargy as he rose from his seat on the arm of my chair and tucked a blanket around me. "Remain here, Sherlock. I shall go and retrieve our dinner from the kitchen and you can eat it by the fire." He brushed his fingers lightly through my hair and then left the room.

I knew that it was dangerous to relax too much, however I could not sense Moriarty's presence nearby, so I allowed myself a brief second of repose, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against one of the wings of the chair. I must have been more tired than I thought, as it seemed only a moment later that Watson was shaking me to awaken me from my slumber.

I apologised hastily but he just shook his head and pressed a bowl of some manner of stew, and a spoon, into my hands.

"You have nothing to apologise for, old friend. I should have recognised your fatigue and not have pressed you for so many details; goodness knows I have seen you work yourself into this state often enough in the past. Where were you planning to sleep tonight, Holmes?"

I had not actually considered the issue as my only concern had been whether Watson could bear to forgive me for my betrayal, but it would not do to let him know that. "There are a few places in London where I can acquire a bed for the night without attracting attention," I told him. "One of the advantages of my profession is a better than average knowledge of the less salubrious neighbourhoods of the city and there are many places where one can acquire a room with no questions being asked provided you have the financial inducement necessary to hand."

Watson frowned. "Do you truly believe I will let you spend the night in some backstreet inn or worse in your current condition? You will spend the night here if I have to put you to bed myself to be sure of it." He paused and I smiled sleepily at him, making him frown in irritation. "You knew I would say that and had no intention of leaving, especially as you fear Moriarty may be watching us."

I chuckled. "Staying here was not my intention when I braved the dragon guarding the gate and forced my way in, but since you seem to bear me no ill will, then yes I will admit, I knew you would not let me leave and in truth I have nowhere particular to go although I could secure myself a room were it to become necessary."

"You truly are incorrigible, Holmes," Watson told me, but I could detect a note of affection in his tone so I did not worry overly much about it. "Let me help you to bed, my friend. I do not have a second bedroom here so it seems we have no choice but to share a room. I assume you would have no objection to that?"

"Given the circumstances I believe it is only logical for us to share a bed," I told him dryly. "It would be churlish to turn my host out of his own bed."

Laughing, Watson helped me to my feet. "Then let me help you upstairs and put you to bed. You look on the verge of collapse."

Watson insisted on keeping hold of me as we ascended the stairs to his bedroom. I should like to say that it wasn't necessary, but after three years of constant travelling, the last twelve months of which had allowed me little rest, I fear that without his aid I would have fallen. Once in his bedroom, I looked around curiously. The room was masculine in appearance and it was obvious even at a single glance that Mary had never lived here. Even though the very thought pricked my conscience, I was glad. While Mary and I had shared Watson's affections, we had never done so in the same bed. When he had stayed at the rooms in Baker Street he had been mine and when he had returned home to Mary he had belonged to her.

On the table beside the bed there stood a small clock and two pocket-sized miniatures. I did not need to examine them to know who they would depict.

I was firmly turned around to face Watson and strong, capable hands began to unfasten my collar, deftly removing the studs and depositing it on the table. My jacket was hung carelessly over the back of a chair and then my waistcoat was removed. My shirt and under-shirt both followed before I halted Watson's progress with a gentle hand on his wrist.

"I may be suffering from fatigue, my dear fellow, but I am perfectly capable of finishing the job myself. It seems to me that if you concentrate on my attire at the expense of your own then when you are done you will be a trifle overdressed. I would greatly prefer it if you turned your attention to your own wardrobe so that we may slip into bed together rather than leaving me to warm the chilled linens with my body while you disrobe."

Watson shook his head, but stepped back. "You do not always have to direct things, Holmes. Occasionally, it would be appreciated if you would allow someone else to be in charge. Besides, have you considered that perhaps I wish to see you disrobed as it is a sight I have greatly missed in the last three years?"

I reached out and tangled my fingers briefly with his, bringing his hand to my lips so that I could brush a gentle kiss across the knuckles. "And you believe I do not feel the same anticipation, my dear John? I too have missed seeing your body, especially when it is spread out on our sheets and you are waiting for me to join you. I have visited museums in every great city on this continent and I have yet to see a work of art that has captured even half the beauty I see in your form."

For a moment Watson seemed bereft of words and were I a more romantic soul I would swear that his eyes glistened more brightly than simple candlelight could explain.

"Sherlock ..." He swallowed and pulled his hand from my grip. "Then I shall disrobe with all alacrity, but I expect you to do the same. I wish to feel your body against mine and to know that you are truly alive and here with me after all this time."

After that there was silence, broken only by the rustling of clothing as we both lost no time in removing all the impediments that had so far prevented us from feeling the other's flesh against our own. As I had predicted I was the first to be fully bare and I shivered as I slid between the cool sheets to await Watson's presence.

When he was finally stripped bare Watson lifted the covers and climbed into the bed next to me. We were close enough that I could feel his body heat and it warmed me in more ways than just the physical. Reaching up I tugged his head down too mine and gently covered his lips with my own, sharing a chaste kiss even as our bodies finally entwined themselves around one another.

Pulling back slowly, his reluctance etched in every line of his body, Watson gently caressed my cheek with the backs of his fingers. "You are too pale, even by your standards, Sherlock. Your skin is practically translucent in the lamplight. Once this case is over and Moriarty has gone to his eternal rest, I am going to take you away somewhere for a week. I believe we should head for the seaside, perhaps rent a cottage with a small laboratory, and you can spend the week perfecting your alchemical studies during the day and studying something far more … practical at night."

I chuckled at Watson's little joke. "Anatomy, perchance? I was not aware my skills had become so stagnant but perhaps a refresher course would be in line. I confess that the idea of a week spent in isolation is not an unpalatable one, John. Especially as once we are done with this case my presence will no doubt become public knowledge." I wrinkled my nose at the thought of all the people who might wish to call on us and assure themselves that I truly was alive. Other than Mrs Hudson and Inspector Lestrade I could not think of a single one of them I wished to waste a moment on.

"It just so happens, my dear friend, that I know someone who would be delighted to assist you with your anatomical study." He pulled the covers to one side, exposing my body to the cool air. "But for now, I think I would like you to simply lie there and rest. You are exhausted. Let me try to relax you enough that you can sleep."

I propped myself up on one elbow. "That would seem to be doing you a disservice, John. You deserve more than to have to care for me yet again." After all the grief I had caused him it should be me lavishing attention on him, not the reverse.

He kissed me again and I opened my mouth, inviting his tongue to dance with mine for a moment. "No, Sherlock, not this time. I give you my oath that once this case is concluded you may do whatever you wish to me, but for now let me pamper you. Conserve your energy for the confrontation that is surely to come."

Kissing him once more as words were not adequate to express my gratitude for his forgiveness and compassion towards me, I did as he instructed and stretched out on the sheets, wriggling sensuously when I realised he was observing my every move. I may tease him about seeing but not observing in his daily life but whenever I have shared a bed with him I have never found Watson to be anything but observant. He is the most attentive lover I have ever shared my body with and I could feel the familiar excitement starting to flow through my veins as he watched me.

Nodding in approval of my acquiescence he reached out and ran his fingers tenderly over my torso, feeling the muscles twitch under his hands. He frowned slightly and rested his palm on my chest, feeling my heart beating under his hand. "Turn over, Holmes. I'm going to rub your back before I try anything else. You feel as if you are strung tighter than your violin."

"Three years of being unable to relax will do that to a man, my dear Doctor. But now that I have returned home I must admit the tension is starting to ebb. I no longer feel as if I must be alert even in my sleep with you here." I rolled onto my abdomen as he had requested so that I could hide my face from his knowing gaze after such a sentimental admission. Truly, Watson was the only man I trusted to guard my back in this way.

"Let me just fetch a bottle of something I keep to use on my shoulder when it pains me. It should function adequately as oil for a massage." He ginned in a most mischievous fashion and continued, "And once you are fully recovered I believe we could find other uses for it as well."

I hid my face in my folded arms again, closing my eyes and giving myself over completely to Watson's care. The bed dipped beneath him as he returned so the first touch of his oiled hands was no surprise, however the scent emanating from his bottle of liniment was. Unlike the medicinal odour that I associated with such a lotion, this one smelled spicy.

"Ginger?" I asked curiously.

"Ginger and passiflora, amongst other things, with a base of olive oil," he told me smugly. "I have been experimenting with various combinations. When I was in Afghanistan I found that passiflora was often used by the natives in tisanes to relax a person and as a natural aid to sleep, similarly to the way European folk medicine uses valerian. And ginger has certain pain relieving properties. I have been testing different concoctions to see if they can communicate those properties when applied topically rather than consumed. I have not come to any firm conclusions as to whether the benefits are real or simply the result of the massage itself but I have discovered that the ginger gives this particular liniment a pleasant warming feeling."

As he spoke his strong hands were working the oil into my muscles, kneading the knots and gradually working his way along the length of my spine. I groaned softly, already too relaxed to feel embarrassed at uttering such an abandoned sound.

I felt Watson's lips brush the back of my neck and then his breath against my skin as he exhaled. "You are the most erotic sight I have ever been fortunate enough to see," he whispered. "But there is something I should like to see even more. Turn over again, Sherlock. It's time for the last part of this massage. When I am finished, you will finally be able to sleep."

Only Watson could make me feel as relaxed as I ever have in my life and yet simultaneously feel anticipation thrumming through my body at the thought of what he might do next. I rolled onto my back, unashamedly exposing my erect member to his dark eyes. "I am, as always, in your hands, John."

Stretching sinuously, I watched his breathing catch and was once again astonished that I could have such an effect on a man who has always prided himself on his appreciation of the female form. I had none of the curves or softer features which I knew him to be drawn to and I rarely showed any of the gentler, kinder emotions that he loved and yet from the moment we had been introduced I had only needed a word or gesture to command his complete unswerving attention. It really was a heady feeling, better even than the stimulation I had derived from cocaine.

I was pulled away from my musings when Watson slowly ran his calloused fingers along my pale torso and wrapped them around my straining member. Arching into his practised grip, I moaned, my eyes fluttering closed so that I could better concentrate on the delectable sensations. "John!"

"Shh," he hushed me. "Just relax and let me take care of you tonight."

Reaching out I clutched at his broad shoulders with one hand, clinging to him as to a rock in a stormy sea while he slowly brought me to heaven. I gasped once more and then spilt my seed over his fingers and my abdomen before relaxing against the pillows again.

I forced my eyes open just as Watson leant closer and brushed his lips against mine again. I opened my lips and invited his tongue back in, savouring the familiar tickle of his moustache against my upper lip as he kissed me.

He pulled away from me and extracted a clean handkerchief from the drawer, using it to clean me of my emissions before discarding it carelessly. I reached out to try and return the pleasure he had given me only to have my hand batted away.

"Rest, Holmes. I shall take care of myself tonight. You may make restitution once you are recovered and this case is over."

I wanted to argue but the combination of the soft bed, Watson's comforting presence, and the powerful wave of lethargy which was the natural result of my climax were pulling me into the unforgiving arms of Morpheus and I was helpless to resist. The last thing that I remember is the sensation of movement beside me as he stroked himself and the brush of his knuckles against my thigh and then nothing until the sun creeping between the drapes awoke me.


	7. Doctor Watson

When I awoke the next morning it was to the feeling of another body pressed up against mine. Still half asleep I pressed closer, somewhat bemused to find the body lacked the softness of my late wife and was instead composed of flat planes and sharp angles. As the fog of sleep slowly cleared my mind, I remembered to whom that body belonged and my eyes shot open. I found myself gazing into Holmes' amused eyes.

"I find it astonishing that you can leap from your bed ready to fight when we are in danger and yet you are so befuddled in the mornings when you awaken naturally," he told me, his normally dry tones laced with humour.

"You're looking better this morning. Stay here while I wash and shave and then you can use the bathroom while I dress. Mrs Barker will arrive soon so I shall go down as soon as I am ready and ask her to prepare breakfast for two. A pot of tea will no doubt restore my befuddled brains to their normal state of readiness."

"A difference no doubt perceptible only to those of us with exceptional observational skills."

Holmes' eyes were twinkling and I was used to his idea of humour so I ignored the remark and instead stood up and stretched, turning my head to hide the smirk when Holmes followed every movement avidly. I might not be able to best my companion in a battle of wits, but I had other ways of derailing his train of thought when I needed to.

Leaving him in bed I walked into the bathroom and turned on the taps, wincing at the loud clunking sounds as the huge boiler in the kitchen began to heat the water and then pump it up to the first floor. I let the water run so that when I had finished my other business it would be warm enough to wash and shave with. I briefly pondered weather Mrs. Barker would recognise Holmes as being the rather elderly man who had been so rude to her the previous evening. I rather hoped she wouldn't. I needed to know they would be able to spend time in the same building without Mrs Barker becoming so enraged she would over-starch my collars or start forcing me to consume spinach with every meal as she tended to when she felt I had sinned against her in some way.

When I returned to the bedroom, Holmes was out of bed and had wrapped my dressing gown around himself. "As soon as this case is over I am going to have to invest in a whole new wardrobe," he complained. "Travelling constantly does not allow one to dress as a gentleman should."

As I began to dress I let my eyes roam over his lean frame. "I find I rather like how you're dressed at this moment. I can offer to lend you collars and studs and other accoutrements, my dear boy, but you're far too tall and lean to fit the rest of my clothing. Perhaps you can acquire the rest from your brother. He dealt with your clothing and belongings after your death. He may have kept them."

Holmes looked slightly off to one side of me and admitted softly, "Actually, John, Mycroft has always known I was alive. If you would care to visit them later, you should find that our rooms in Baker Street have remained unchanged since my 'death'. The only reason I haven't yet returned is I would rather not endanger Mrs Hudson by my presence or scare her to death by appearing before her without due warning for that matter."

I could see that he believed I would be enraged by his words, but I had suspected it from the moment he had reappeared. If there is one man in all of England better able to keep a secret than Sherlock Holmes, it is his older brother.

"Shave and dress as best you can," I simply told him, ignoring his admission. "I shall arrange for breakfast to be brought into the sitting room and you will kindly eat all of it. I am not going to allow you to resume your disgraceful habit of neglecting to eat for long periods of time; you are already far too thin."

Holmes seemed surprised by my easy acceptance of the truth but then smiled. "As you wish, Watson. On this one occasion I will not argue with the orders of my physician and will sit down to a no doubt hearty breakfast with you, if only because I fear the coming days may provide us with few opportunities to dine in peace."

I was still chuckling at Holmes' less than wholehearted agreement as I left him to complete his morning ablutions in peace and descended the stairs to the kitchen to see if Mrs Barker had arrived yet.

Seeing that the formidable lady had indeed let herself in and started breakfast, I informed her with a smile that I had an unexpected guest who would be staying for the next few days and that the two of us would like breakfast in the sitting room as soon as she could manage it.

Looking around the kitchen, I frowned. Mary's cat, Blackie, normally slept down here in the winter, basking in the warmth from the stove and most likely begging for scraps from my housekeeper, who she had quickly discovered was far more likely to indulge her than I. "Have you seen Blackie this morning, Mrs Barker? I thought she would be under your feet as usual?"

"No, I'm sorry, Doctor. She hasn't been around. Probably she's found a nice comfy corner somewhere and is holed up in it. You know what cats are like." She smiled at me and I nodded, turning to leave. There was something not quite right in her tone, but I was loathe to imply she was being less than honest. The most likely scenario was that Blackie had got in her way and been scolded and was hiding somewhere licking her wounds. Mrs Barker probably just didn't want to admit she'd run the cat off in case I was unhappy about it.

By the time I made it back to the comfort of my sitting room, Holmes was dressed and sitting at the small table perusing the morning newspapers.

"Has your … redoubtable housekeeper made her appearance?" Holmes asked, the pause deliberate and clearly meant to have me thinking of the less complimentary adjectives he would no doubt have preferred to use.

"She has and breakfast will be along shortly," I promised him.

I couldn't truly fault his opinion of Mrs Barker. She was a reasonably adequate guardian of my door, certainly more so than the maid who came in three days a week and could not remember my consulting hours or to ask for a card or at the very least a name from my visitors, and her cooking was satisfactory, although occasionally a little bland, but on the other hand she had the Devil's own temper if you crossed her and an ability to hold a grudge that was second to none. I pitied her husband, I really did. At least I could always dismiss her if she went too far and I could send her home of an evening, which was more than he could do. She was certainly not a patch on the ever-reliable and resourceful Mrs Hudson back in Baker Street.

Seemingly by mutual, if unspoken, consent, we passed our time waiting for Mrs Barker to appear with our morning repast discussing trivialities that Holmes pointed out in the newspaper. I wanted to discuss our plans for hunting Moriarty, but I feared interruption and did not want to give Mrs Barker an opportunity to overhear us.

Breakfast was a hearty meal of bacon, eggs, and kedgeree, with two racks of toast and a plentiful supply of marmalade to follow, and a large pot of tea made just the way I like it. Conversation petered out a little as we both tucked in to our food. I ate with my normal gusto but I was gratified to see Holmes clear his plate as well. My friend has an unfortunate habit of neglecting the needs of his body in favour of the needs of his mind and I was pleased not to have to nag him into viewing food as nothing more than fuel.

"What do you propose as our course of action, my friend?" I asked him. "Are we to pursue Moriarty alone or do you intend to enlist the help of your friends and associates in our quest."

"I was unaware I had friends remaining in this city, with the natural exception of yourself, my dear Watson," Holmes almost whispered. "Contacts I have, but not so many friends, not after so long an absence."

"Nonsense. Inspector Lestrade at the very least will be delighted to see you alive again and would do whatever you ask to aid you. Your brother might help in his own way, although I own I cannot see him chasing anyone through the streets of London, much less a vampire. He has kept the Irregulars running around on his errands and thus no doubt in food and lodging these last three years, not to mention overseeing the education of those interested in such things, but I don't doubt they would be eager to give you any assistance they can. Even Mrs Hudson would play her part if you asked. Perhaps you could enlist her aid in creating the illusion that you had moved back into your old rooms, it would give us at least some measure of security here if Moriarty could be convinced you were residing elsewhere."

When I stopped to draw breath, Holmes laughed – not one of his triumphant barks as he once again demonstrated his intellectual superiority, but a truly joyous peal of laughter. "Oh my dear Doctor, how I have missed you. You are of course correct. I had underestimated the loyalty and resourcefulness of my friends here in London. Lestrade will be our first stop today, I believe, and then perhaps a short visit to Baker Street. The Irregulars can be utilised as watchmen, telling us if our trap has been baited and if Moriarty and his comrades truly believe I am sequestered within our rooms there or not."

I nodded, satisfied that his customary black mood was not about to return and that he was now aware precisely how many people had missed his presence. "Now, let me just check with Mrs Barker to see if the odour of the kedgeree has tempted Blackie out of whichever hiding place she has found and then I will be completely at your disposal, as always."

It didn't feel right to leave the house without at least trying to check on Blackie. She had been Mary's cat rather than mine, but I still felt a certain affection for her and the only time I'd known her to be absent for any length was when she rather unexpectedly presented us with a litter of seven kittens. It would not do to be surprised like that again. I may not be a veterinarian, but as a medical practitioner I should know when an animal is carrying a few extra lives within herself.

Holmes immediately jumped to his feet. "Blackie? I presume the animal in question is a cat as you expect it to appear in the presence of cooked fish. Are you telling me, Watson, that you own a cat and that it has disappeared? And that you have not thought to mention this matter to me before now?"

"It's just a cat, Holmes. She was Mary's pet. She's no doubt hiding somewhere after being caught with her paws in something that did not belong to her by Mrs Barker. I am sure she'll appear when it suits her, she always does." I spread my hands and shrugged, trying to convince my friend that a missing cat was hardly a matter he need concern himself about.

"We must locate her at once, Watson. Your feline house guest is one of the best means of warning you of the approach of a vampire. If she has vanished it could mean that we are discovered and you are in danger!" He wrenched the door open and commenced down the stairs, two at a time. I hurried after him, still protesting that Blackie was surely holed up somewhere waiting for Mrs Barker to forget that she was angry.

When we reached the ground floor, Holmes grabbed my wrist and in a sharp whisper cautioned me to be quiet. By now I had realised that my protests would be of no avail and it would simply be easier for both of us if I went along with whatever Holmes wanted and helped him search for the cat.

We crept through the building, always careful to keep Mrs Barker unaware of our presence. We searched the storerooms first as they were one of Blackie's favourite hiding places, presumably because of the opportunities all the nooks and crannies, the canisters and sacks of dried food, medical equipment, and cleaning supplies afforded her to secrete herself away from view. The search was fruitless however so we moved to the next stage of Holmes' plan. Creeping back up the stairs to my first floor sitting room we descended again much more noisily, making sure that Mrs Barker could not fail to hear us. Once downstairs I looked in on the housekeeper and told her that Holmes and I had to leave but that we were expecting to bring a guest with us when we returned so I would need my sitting room tidied as soon as possible.

Once outside the building Holmes pulled me to hide behind a tree and we watched the sitting room window carefully. I was hard pressed not to laugh at the absurd situation. Only Holmes' presence could cause me to be hiding outside of my own dwelling so that I could creep back inside without Mrs Barker's knowledge. I still found the idea that Blackie's absence was significant to be ridiculous and I could not fathom why Holmes was insisting on keeping my housekeeper in the dark other than their mutual antipathy. But Holmes was Holmes and it had been my experience in the past that arguing with him when he was in full pursuit of some idea to be an exercise in futility. Although when we found the cat snoozing in front of the kitchen range I was definitely planning to say 'I told you so'.

The curtains at the window of the sitting room were pulled open as the maid began cleaning the window and I nodded to Holmes. Mrs Barker would never allow the maid up there on her own unless she was bringing a message or carrying a tea tray. The likelihood of her breaking something when allowed to work alone was shockingly high unfortunately and Mrs Barker abhorred mess.

Silently we re-entered the house and crept along the hallway to the kitchen. Of course, it had occurred to me that while we were outside of the house Blackie could have left her hiding place and found a new one in the rooms we'd already searched. I wasn't going to bring it up unless we couldn't find her for Holmes had surely already thought of that or at least I hoped he had. It would be unlike him to overlook such an obvious detail but he was so obsessed with the idea that something had happened to the cat that it was possible his single-minded focus had caused him to neglect any other possibilities.

The kitchen was easily searched as the cupboards were all full with no room for a cat to hide and there were no small spaces for her to sneak into, only a large table, with no cloth, and the range, in front of which I had expected to find her. Since she was unfortunately still nowhere to be seen we split up, Holmes to check the scullery while I looked around the small pantry.

Holmes' cry of triumph startled me and I leapt to my feet so sharply that I barely missed cracking my head open on the shelf beneath which I had been kneeling. Rushing out of the pantry I emerged into the kitchen in time to see Mrs Barker swinging a rolling pin with all her might at Holmes as he crouched in the scullery with his back to her, oblivious to her approach.

I shouted in alarm, and from the corner of my eye saw Holmes hurl himself to one side, but most of my attention was focussed on my housekeeper. When her strike impacted against a shelf instead of Holmes' head she spun around to face me and I stumbled backwards in shock.

Her face was devoid of colour, the pallor so inhuman that if she hadn't been standing under her own power I would have sworn she was dead. Her eyes glowed with an unearthly light and her lips were open, revealing sharp, white fangs. She lunged towards me, dropping the rolling pin to the floor and reaching out with her hands as if she wished to claw at me like a wild animal.

In horror I grabbed the first thing that my flailing hands encountered and swung it at her with all my strength. I might have had reservations at striking a female, but this thing coming towards me barely resembled a human of any type. It was a creature, a monster, a grotesque figure from the realms of the imagination. The iron pan I had seized struck her in the face and knocked her to the floor, but even though the blow would have killed a human, it didn't even send her into unconsciousness. Kicking out at her reaching hands, I frantically swung again and she collapsed to the ground like she was a marionette and someone had severed her strings.

I could see that the second blow had caved in the side of her skull and I fought down a wave of nausea. I am a medical man and more an army surgeon, but even so the sight of my housekeeper's skull cracked like an egg appalled me. Yet, even as I watched the bone and skin began to knit together as the wound healed.

I was transfixed by the sight before me, this strange healing which contradicted every natural law. A sudden movement in the periphery of my vision made me grip the pan more tightly and I raised it to swing again before Holmes' familiar tones brought me back to my senses.

"Watch where you're swinging that thing, I beg you, Watson. I have no desire to end up insensate on the floor beside this creature."

I dragged my eyes away from Mrs Barker''s unmoving form in time to see Holmes pull a silver dagger from his boot. With an ease that discomforted me, borne as it so clearly was from practice, he pulled her head back, exposing her throat and coolly and calmly severed her head from her body.

"Dear God, Holmes, what are you doing?" I demanded, my voice shaking with horror.

"What I must," he retorted sharply. "You saw for yourself the evidence that she was no longer human. She was healing and if you had stood unmoving much longer she would have regained consciousness and resumed her attack. Only silver is fatal and only by severing the head can you be sure that a vampire will not rise again." He stepped over the body and walked to the sink, calmly washing the blood from his hands. "And now Watson I believe we should send for Lestrade and hope that our long acquaintance with him will let him reserve judgement long enough for us to explain why there is a dead woman in your scullery." His eyes flickered briefly to the room he had just left. "As well, I am sorry to inform you, your cat will not be coming back. She must have known that we would have been able to tell what she was from its reactions so she disposed of it before it could betray her. I was examining its corpse when she attacked me." He cleared his throat. "I believe I owe you my life, old friend. If you had not reacted with such alacrity, I should have joined poor Blackie in eternal repose."


	8. Inspector Lestrade

I was in my office trying to manage a quick wash and brush up in the basin my sergeant had provided when the runner arrived. Shaving over a basin at my desk wasn't my idea of fun but it was better than letting the Superintendent catch me with stubble and a wrinkled suit. He liked his men to work long hours, even staying all night like I had done last night, but he thought we needed to keep up a proper image as well, which meant looking smart no matter what. I rolled my eyes at the thought. It was all very well for him to lay down these rules, but I'd never seen him sat at his desk, trying not to get foam on his blotter or slice his face open. The knock on the door made me curse as I damn near cut my own throat, but my snarled 'come in' didn't seem to dent the boy's irrepressible grin in the slightest.

It was one of the Irregulars, the street rats who'd worked for Mr Holmes and now split their time between running his brother's errands and watching over the Doc, not that I thought the Doc had noticed and I wasn't going to be the one to tell him neither. Mr Holmes' over-protectiveness had always rankled with the Doc when the man was still alive; I wasn't going to break it to him that he'd managed to find a way to keep it up from beyond the grave.

As they say, speak of the devil and he'll appear. The message the boy had carried was from the Doc, summoning me to his home immediately. I started to scrabble in my pocket for a coin but the boy just grinned.

"'S all right, guv'nor. The Doctor give me a coin and said to come right back; they was going to need a lot of us today." He grinned again and ran off, easily avoiding the constable who had showed him up, leaving the lad red-faced as he chased after him.

That sounded bad. I used my shirt to wipe the rest of the foam off my face and quickly put a clean one on, buttoning it up as I hurried through the building. Damn, I knew I should have sent a constable to stand watch outside of the Doc's house. This monster we were hunting who could kill people even though they were safely locked inside their own home was just the type to hold a grudge against the men trying to catch him. I'd thought that yesterday, but I'd let the Doc go home alone anyway. Mr Holmes might have been over-protective, but I'd gone too far the other way. If something had happened the monster would soon learn there was be nowhere in this City he could hide. The Yard would catch him and see him hang or I'd know the reason why not.

I hailed a Hansom and collared young Hopkins to come with me. Identifying myself to the driver I told him there would be a florin in it for him if he made it in less than ten minutes. I could have used one of the steam bone-shakers the Yard had bought, but I was too damn old to let myself get shaken into bits by one of those contraptions. A nice traditional horse-drawn cab would suit me fine. Not that the ride was exactly smooth because of the rush, but it wasn't the tooth-rattling experience a bone-shaker was either, and in my experience horses very rarely explode, which is more than you could say for the bone-shakers or the new fangled horseless omnibuses that were starting to pop up in London.

As we jumped out of the cab the door was flung open and Doctor Watson called my name before glancing warily at Sergeant Hopkins. The fact he was answering his own door instead of letting that battleaxe of a housekeeper do it, spoke again of the urgency that had been present in his message.

"Doctor Watson! I came as soon as I got your message. What the devil is wrong?"

He looked at the sergeant again. "It's not something we can discuss on the doorstep, Lestrade. Come in." He hesitated. "I'm sorry but this needs to be in confidence for now. Once you have the full facts you have my permission to bring in anyone you need to."

I nodded and gestured to the sergeant. "Hopkins, stand here and … oh I don't know, guard the door or count the bricks or something. Don't let anyone past you." Then I followed Watson inside and into his consulting room without a backwards glance. Hopkins is a good lad and won't take offence at being left outside and if the Doc says he needs to talk to me alone then that's good enough for me. I trust his judgement more than any man, save one, and more when it comes to matters that need a level head and good, old fashioned common sense instead of high-flown flights of fancy.

"Right then, tell me what's so important you needed to send one of Holmes' street rats for me?" I asked, trying not to let on that I was being eaten up by my curiosity. It's an occupational hazard, unfortunately. If you don't have it when you join up, you will by the time they put you out to pasture.

"Before I show you why you had to come here, there's a story you need to hear, and someone you need to meet," he told me, a slight smile dispelling his serious expression for a moment.

I was going to ask another of the hundred questions in my head when a voice behind me had me spinning to face its owner in amazement.

"I see we have disturbed you during your morning ablutions, Lestrade. You have whiskers left remaining on your left cheek and there's a dab of shaving foam near your ear." A handkerchief was flourished at me. "Allow me to offer you this to clean yourself up."

A familiar smile spread across those sharp features at my silent shock and I scrambled to find my words.

"Holmes! Dear God, it really is Mr Sherlock Holmes, isn't it?" I glanced at the Doc for confirmation and then laughed delightedly, striding across the room to seize his hand and shake it heartily. "Bless me, I never thought to see you again. I can't tell you how delighted I am to see you alive and well."

Holmes seemed momentarily taken aback by my enthusiasm but he returned my handshake and I could see he was honestly touched by my joy at his resurrection.

"My dear Inspector, I am delighted to see you again and I owe you the most heartfelt apology for my deception."

I turned to look at the Doc, wanting to ask if he'd known all along, but Mr Holmes, as usual, knew what I was about to ask.

"Ah, Lestrade, don't blame Watson. I assure you until last night he was as much in the dark as you, but he has graciously forgiven me for my mendacity and I do hope that when I have explained myself to you, you will be able to do the same. Alas, I do not have time to tell you everything right now as we have pressing matters to discuss."

"Mr. Holmes, you owe me nothing. I know you wouldn't have undertaken such a scheme, knowing how your disappearance would grieve your friends, if you didn't have good cause. I'm just glad you're back with us and I'm going to make one of my own deductions now," I boldly teased him. "Your return has something to do with the monster who is murdering men behind locked doors, the very man Doctor Watson was trying to help me find just yesterday."

"Brilliant, Lestrade. We'll make a detective of you yet!" I'd long since stopped being offended by Mr Holmes' little digs when I'd realised he only made them against people he truly liked. There weren't that many people you could put in that group and I was honoured to be one of them. "And you could not have chosen a better word to describe the villain, for it is Moriarty himself that you are pursuing and it has been many years since he was human."

I shuddered, remembering the last case I'd aided Mr. Holmes on where he'd talked of an inhuman villain. At the time I hadn't believed him, but I'd had my eyes opened and the proof laid right before them. "Not another werewolf?"

"Oh, Lestrade. Whenever I think you have absorbed enough of my methods to make your own deductions, you confound me by leaping to conclusions that run contrary to every fragment of evidence. How, pray tell me, could a werewolf kill someone behind a locked door? No, Lestrade, we're hunting something much more deadly, much more cunning than a werewolf. Moriarty is a vampire."

The line was delivered with his typical dramatic flourish and I had to look for the Doc's reaction to see if it was another of Mr Holmes' little jokes. It wasn't. "You're deadly serious?"

"I am indeed and now we come to the reason you were summoned this morning. An autopsy will prove what I am saying, but I felt that only your discretion would keep the good Doctor and I from languishing in a cell until such a claim could be proved."

"A cell? You mean there's a vampire in here? You've caught Moriarty?" I looked from one to another, seeing their drawn and serious expressions. "I cannot help you if you won't tell me what the hell is going on!"

Doctor Watson nodded. "I'm sorry. I needed you to hear Holmes' explanation first before I could show you. It's not Moriarty, but one of his minions. Holmes tells me vampires can spread their affliction through an exchange of blood. Some time after she left last night he must have captured Mrs Barker, because when she arrived this morning she tried to kill Holmes. We struggled and he had to kill her. I can attest that she was in no way human, Lestrade – her pallor, her eyes, the fangs, not to mention inhuman strength and stamina, and when I was forced to strike her with a frying pan I watched as her skull began to repair itself before my eyes." He was looking at the floor as he spoke, clearly horrified by the violence. Knowing the Doc it was the thought of having to strike a woman that had so disturbed him. He's got a real soft spot for the ladies, no matter what station in life they have, and they love him in return. It's like bees around a honey-pot when they encounter him. It's a wonder he hasn't been married ten times over.

"You'd better show me and then I'll call young Hopkins in. Don't worry, I believe you if you say you had no choice. I'll need you to stay with me until the doctor can confirm she wasn't human though. My superintendent gives me a long leash, but I don't think he'd approve of letting the only suspects in a murder disappear into the crowds of London, even if they are the famous Mr Sherlock Holmes and his stalwart assistant, Doctor Watson." I winked and then gestured to the door. "Lead the way, Doctor Watson, and if you'd be so kind as to find a couple of your street rats for me, Mr Holmes, I'll send some messages to the Yard so we can get the scientists in here to do their magic. The more evidence to back up your story the better, although I don't doubt you could make a murder look like anything you wanted if you set your mind to it."


	9. Sherlock Holmes

I was quite astonished by the heartfelt welcome I had received from Lestrade. While I considered the man one of the best of the professional detectives, and appreciated his common sense and direct manner when he was working, as well as his wry sense of humour and his kind, if somewhat well hidden, heart, it had never occurred to me that he might consider me a friend. I found to my surprise that not only was I gratified by his regard, I returned it in full measure and could definitely count him among the few people I would be happy to socialise with. Perhaps when this case was reached its conclusion I would invite him to join Watson and I for dinner one evening.

Since I already knew the full facts of what had transpired that morning in the scullery I was content to merely watch from the sidelines as the Yard's team of scientists began their evidence collection. It really was quite fascinating to watch how the professionals did it and it would certainly prove to be useful information for those occasions when I had to examine a crime scene which had already been trampled by a horde of policemen with their careless tread and their size nine boots. As a general rule I usually only encountered the police scientists when they were being assigned on my orders so I had little idea of precisely how they worked when they were following their own protocols.

I was somewhat chastened to realised that some of the techniques they were now using, I had never heard of. The last three years of almost constant travelling had left me little time to keep up with my reading and it seemed the advancement of the scientific field of criminology had continued apace, leaving me with a plethora of questions for the scientists. They were naturally a little reticent at first. After all Watson and I were technically the chief suspects in this rather grisly murder, and they were not inclined to share their secrets with us, but a combination of Lestrade's approval and my own reputation finally convinced them to show me their apparatus and explain its functions as long as I kept my hands away from their evidence and my person out of their crime scene.

The small recording devices I understood, although I had not encountered the much more convenient hand-held versions before. They were simply miniaturised versions of the tabletop machine I had been forced to leave behind when I had vanished and, like the larger machine, they used a wax cylinder and a needle to record sound. I would have to acquire one and take it to pieces in order to work out how the manufacturers had overcome the problem with smaller cylinders being able to hold much less information than the larger ones used by the tabletop devices.

The cameras were also something I had encountered before, although once again they had decreased dramatically in size in the last three years, and the time for the picture to be taken was much shorter, but what really fascinated me was the moving picture camera. The scientist working it called it an eikonagraph. Eikona from the Greek for image or scene, and graph for writing or recording, almost certainly because whoever had coined the phrase wished it to relate to the phonograph. The images were recorded on celluloid films and the operator explained that it was like a child's kinescope where you spin the drum and the still pictures seem to move. The principle for the eikonagraph was similar and the more frames per second you could record the smoother the final moving image was. As usual the metropolitan police were disinclined to pay for the most expensive model and the operator was most envious of the versions that were being used by the British Government. I must admit to a flash of envy myself. I must invest in one of these machines at the first opportunity; they are truly incredible. I also found myself speculating on how one might synchronise the eikonagraph with one of the new smaller phonographs and record both sound and pictures at once. It was most definitely a subject that merited further research when I had the time.

Watson walked up behind me and rested one of his strong hands on my shoulders. "When you've quite finished playing with your toys, Holmes, Inspector Lestrade would like to discuss what we're planning to do next about Moriarty. I'm sure if you're a very good boy you can go and play with the scientists once we're no longer suspects."

His eyes were twinkling despite the gruesome scene in front of us and I would rather see that than win this particular war of words, so I simply chose to smile back and then gesture expansively towards the consulting room. "Then by all means lead on, my dear Doctor. We mustn't disappoint the good Inspector."

Watson led me back to his consulting room and closed the door firmly behind us, shutting out the intriguing sounds still drifting along the hallway from the scullery and forcing me to concentrate on the impromptu planning session instead of the far more intriguing science going on somewhere behind me. I smiled ruefully at him and nodded; Watson always has been able to read me far better than any other man and he understands that just occasionally I need to be redirected from something I am obsessing over and back towards the more pressing matters occurring in the here and now.

Inspector Lestrade was ensconced in one of Watson's comfortable chairs with his feet propped up on a footstool, leaning back and sipping some of Watson's cognac, fetched I presume from the good doctor's sitting room as I know he is not in the habit of keeping alcohol in his consulting room. I raised an eyebrow as Watson passed me a glass for myself. "A little early in the morning for alcohol isn't it?"

"With the kitchen occupied by the Inspector's scientists it was the only refreshment available," Watson pointed out dryly. "Besides after seeing you come back from the dead, I'm sure the Inspector could do with a drink, and our encounter with my erstwhile housekeeper has left me rather in need of something stronger than tea as well. You are under no obligation to drink yours if you do not wish."

I waved my hand dismissively and hopped up on the bed, leaving the other chair for Watson, crossing my legs Indian-style as I did so. "No, no, I do believe you are correct my dear friend. This morning's alarms and excursions definitely allow for a breach of etiquette. I believe this will do quite well, especially as I know you to have excellent taste in cognac." I took a sip of my drink and savoured the flavour before allowing it to slide down my throat and warm me from the inside. "Now what did you want to discuss, Inspector?"


	10. Inspector Lestrade

"I'd like to hear what you think Moriarty's next move will be," I told him. "And I'd like to know your plans as well. We need to end his madness once and for all before he sends you any more gruesome messages."

"Yes, indeed, Inspector. A most apt description. I congratulate you on your choice of words. Changing Mrs Barker and sending her back here to Watson's home was most definitely a message. I wonder if he even knew I was here or if I was only supposed to discover what he had done once it was too late?"

Mr Holmes looked paler than usual and I can guess at the images in his mind because they were in mine too. It would just suit Moriarty to set the late Mrs Barker loose and have her wreak havoc here. She was probably supposed to kill Watson and leave the body for Holmes to find.

I cleared my throat a little nervously. "After your demise I did some research into Professor James Moriarty," I admitted. "I do not know if you ever took the time to look into his past yourself Mr Holmes, but I believe you are right and three years ago his only concern was ridding the world of your presence, but in the past three years it seems he has changed his aim. Sending Mrs Barker here after he had encountered her leads me to believe he would now rather you live at least long enough to suffer as he has. Indeed it may be he no longer has any intention of killing you at all."

Mr Holmes' hand briefly touched the side of his own neck and the Doc moved closer, almost as if he was trying to offer some kind of wordless comfort, although I had no idea what Mr Holmes' gesture meant.

"I had come to that conclusion myself," Mr Holmes said softly. He took a deep breath and then looked me in the eye and the pain and self-loathing in that dark gaze stunned me. "When I last encountered him he tried to convert me to a creature like himself. He was interrupted and I managed to escape before he could complete the process. I realised then that for some reason he no longer wished to effect my demise for he could easily have killed me in the time he had taken to try and contaminate me. I suspect his plan is now to kill those people closest to me and force me to live with the knowledge that I was in some way responsible for their deaths." He took another deep breath and gripped the edge of the bed with his free hand so tightly that the knuckles turned white. "I would be interested to hear what you have discovered. I did not deem it necessary to investigate his history when I was simply trying to put an end to his criminal activities. After Reichenbach I felt the need but no longer had the means or the time in which to investigate him."

The thought of Mr Holmes being converted into some evil monster horrified me and I vowed then and there that I would do everything in my power to protect these two men that I was proud to call my friends. The monster had to be stopped and I was going to make sure he was, with no more innocent casualties.

Bringing myself back to the present question I cleared my throat again. "Moriarty is the eldest of three boys. Their parents died while the younger two were still children and Moriarty took it upon himself to ensure their care and education. In fact everything about his conduct until they reached adulthood is laudable. He put his own studies on hold and took more lucrative jobs as a tutor in order to put both boys through school. I'm sure he hoped they would both follow in his footsteps and attend university, but the younger one fell in with something of a bad crowd and took to roaming the streets at night and skipping school by day. While Moriarty was financing their education he could not actually be there to raise them in person and so could not keep as close an eye on the boy as he no doubt needed, instead having to rely on a housekeeper. At around the time you were starting your career as a consulting detective, the boy was starting on his own career as a minor criminal."

The Doc sighed. "It is tragic how many young boys are swept into a life of crime before they realise the consequences of their actions. I see it time and again in my practice. Older sons who get drawn into crime with the promise of riches, which they intend to use to get their families out of trouble, younger ones who see it as a game or just have no one to teach them any better because everyone else in the household is working every hour they can simply to keep a roof over the family's heads."

I nodded. The Doc was right of course, the youngsters I so often saw in the cells were likely as much victims as the people they preyed on, but still, they did have a choice. I knew people from the same areas as the criminals who took pride in their homes, tiny and shabby as they were, who worked hard at honest jobs, some of them alongside me on the police force.

"The Moriarty boy had choices," I pointed out. "His brother was providing for him and he'd have got a good education if he'd just worked at it. He took the easy way out and started robbing people instead with a gang of other boys. One of the houses they robbed wasn't empty though and the owner confronted them. No one is sure exactly what happened but it ended with the victim bleeding to death on his kitchen floor and the gang swinging for it in Newgate gaol." I looked over at Mr Holmes. "Not your usual kind of case, but the widow came to you and asked you to find the thieves who had killed her husband. You had them rounded up within a week. Without you they might have got away with it."

Mr Holmes nodded slowly. "I remember the case although not the names of the miscreants involved. Most of them went by pseudonyms anyway; I may never have known their real names. So one of the boys I helped arrest was Moriarty's youngest brother? And in his guilt at failing to keep the boy safe he decided to place the blame on my shoulders. And at the same time he decided to teach society a lesson and turned to his own path of crime. A pity he could not have looked into the widow's face and seen the damage his brother had caused. I remember her well. I remitted my fees entirely as she had barely enough to keep the roof over her head and feed her children. The boy took a husband away from his wife, a father away from his four children, and deprived the family of its only means of support. I shall not waste my sympathy on him and I cannot regret his execution."

"I wonder when Moriarty became the immortal creature he is now?" the Doc mused. "Perhaps Moriarty intended to turn both his brothers when they were old enough or maybe he was still human then and only became a vampire after he had embarked upon his life of crime. It seems he feels that you condemned him to live forever without the brother he loved and so he shall condemn you to the same fate, only he has chosen to threaten me instead of Mycroft."

I kept my silence but I have to say I understood Moriarty's choice. I have no doubt Mr Holmes would grieve the loss of his older brother as any man would, but they were hardly close. The Doc on the other hand was closer to Mr Holmes than any man alive. If Moriarty truly wished to torture Mr Holmes, then his target was obvious.

"So, do you have a plan, Mr Holmes?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yes, I believe I do although perhaps a few alterations are in need after your revelations. It seems that Moriarty wishes two things now – he wishes Watson dead and me changed into one of his own kind so that I must live with the loss forever. So we must set up a situation where he thinks he can achieve both and then we need merely wait and he will deliver himself into our hands."

I waited patiently. Experience has taught me that when Mr Holmes wishes to reveal his plans he will and no amount of prompting will make him speed the process up.

"I have a trap already laid and ready to be baited. However, I had not thought to include the good Doctor in the bait. We shall need to make a visit to an old friend of mine this afternoon and hope that he can accommodate our needs. If he can be induced to provide what we need then we may be in place to spring the trap tonight. I must confess that after this morning's excitement I would not relish the thought of Moriarty being at large for one moment longer than is necessary."

"Then tell us where we need to go and what we need to do," I insisted. "I cannot let you out of my custody yet, but I can accompany you to wherever you need to be and tonight I will furnish you with as many men as you need to capture the monster." I suspected Mr Holmes wanted to apprehend Moriarty himself, but I would not allow him to endanger himself or the Doc when I had a perfectly good police force to place at his disposal.

Mr Holmes fixed me with one of his piercing glares. "I shall welcome your assistance tonight, Inspector, but until the good Doctor and I have secured Moriarty, you will keep back. I will not allow him to escape because your men have rushed in and confused things and I am not willing to give him any more potential victims either. I will have your word on this or I shall simply not tell you of my plan and Watson and I will carry it out alone."

"Now see here..." I started to bluster, angry that yet again Mr Holmes would see fit to hazard his own life and that of his companion while treating my men as nothing more than potential victims when they were in fact potential assistants, but before I could finish the Doc interrupted me.

"Provided Moriarty is alone, I believe Holmes and I can handle him, Lestrade. I shall have my service revolver and the last of my silver bullets with me. If anything untoward occurs or he brings accomplices with him I'm sure Holmes would welcome your assistance, but otherwise, let us handle him."

I was relieved that the Doc at least was under no illusions about the danger their opponent posed and would be carrying a gun and appropriate ammunition. Half the time Mr Holmes seemed to think criminals should be so overawed by his mere presence that they would throw up their hands and surrender simply because he asked them to.


	11. Doctor Watson

The day seemed to be taken up by a plethora of last minute details necessary to put Holmes' plan into place. I was not usually a party to these preparations so I found it immensely fascinating to watch Holmes setting every aspect of his plan up, his innate perfectionism meaning everything needed to be just so or he would fly off the handle and demand it be done again from the beginning.

By the time the police doctor had confirmed that Holmes and I had been telling the truth and that by the time we had killed her, Mrs Barker had no longer been human, and Lestrade could finally make his escape I believe it was only the remembrance of his recent happiness at Holmes' return that was preventing him from strangling my companion with his bare hands. Lestrade is the type to issue broad commands and then trust his men to fulfil them, whereas Holmes must control every tiny detail, no matter how insignificant, and Lestrade's frustration with his finicky nature had been growing by the minute until he resembled nothing so much as a volcano preparing to erupt.

Lestrade took his leave and returned to the Yard with an immense amount of relief, promising to have his men in position at the appointed time and leaving the rest of the planning to us and I used the momentary halt in Holmes' frenzied preparations to insist he visit a local establishment with me and eat a proper meal in order to have strength for the night to come. Holmes himself would happily go without sustenance for days at a time, but I needed regular meals and fortunately I had always been able to use my hunger to coax Holmes into eating as well.

The visit to Holmes' friend in the morning had been a revelation. My dear friend's plan was to use an automaton to make anyone watching the rooms in Baker Street believe he was inside when in fact he was elsewhere watching the watchers. Since we now needed them to believe I was inside as well a second automaton was hastily acquired. It was not nearly as accurate a facsimile of me as the original was of Holmes, but since we had reason to believe the watchers would be much better acquainted with Holmes than myself anyway it would suffice. The only flaw I foresaw was that Holmes had said Moriarty could sense his presence, but my companion had an answer to that as well. The sense was no so accurate as to be able to tell precisely which building it was emanating from and the hiding place Holmes had secured us was immediately opposite our old rooms, so Moriarty would certainly be able to sense him and that would add to the reality of the illusion we were creating.

So that was how we came to be crouched in the front room of an empty house, just opposite our former home, waiting for the sun to set and our enemy to finally reveal himself. I was crouched by the front window, watching the window at 221b Baker Street for any sign that Moriarty was going to enter through the window as he had done in the previous murders, while Holmes, who was so close beside me that I fancied I could feel the heat from his body seeping into mine through the fabric of our clothing, watched the door of our hiding place in case he approached from behind us.

I was concentrating all my attention on the lighted window in front of me and its surprisingly life-like silhouette and so at first I did not notice my companion's sudden stiffness, until my name was forced from his lips in a strained whisper.

I looked over to see his features drawn and tense, appearing even more angular than usual in the pale light and harsh shadows cast by the glow of the street lamps outside. He was staring into the darkness and I drew my revolver, pointing it in the direction of his gaze. I could discern nothing within the gloom, but I trusted Holmes implicitly and if he saw something there then it was there.

A voice broke the stillness, a mocking tone with an edge to it that made the hair on my neck stand up. There was something unnatural about it although if pushed I would be unable to say precisely what.

"At last we meet again, Holmes and, if I'm not mistaken, the good Doctor Watson is at your side as always. Such a pity he won't be able to provide a record of this case, I would so much like to read his version of events." He laughed mockingly.

I should have fired, but I was waiting for Holmes' instruction and so I hesitated and that was nearly our undoing. Moriarty waved his hand in an elegant gesture and, as if he were a puppet and the creature his master, Holmes turned towards me and wrapped his fingers around the barrel of my revolver, directing it away from Moriarty and harmlessly towards the floor. Instinctively I tried to pull the gun away from his grip, but Holmes was implacable and I could not break free.

"What the devil are you doing, man?" I ejaculated.

Moriarty laughed again, the cold, unfeeling sound sending chills down my spine. "I see Holmes has neglected to mention a few things, Doctor. Such a shame; you might have been better prepared had you known what to expect. He has, no doubt, told you we are connected since I tried and failed to turn him. His blood flows through my veins, warm and strong, and because of it I will always be able to follow him, but as well, it allows me a certain degree of control that even the great Sherlock Holmes' formidable will cannot break."

Another gesture and my gun was pulled from my hand as easily as if I were a child. I realised with horror that Moriarty didn't just intend for me to die and Holmes to survive, he intended Holmes to be the one to kill me. I desperately tried to force down my fear and become calm enough to think of a way out of this situation, but I was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on anything except the barrel of my own gun as it was pointed at me by my dearest friend. I had to think of something; I simply could not let Moriarty win. The pain I had felt when I thought Holmes dead would be nothing compared to how much he would suffer if he were to pull the trigger.

"Sherlock, you can fight this," I told him, trying to sound more confident than I felt. As I spoke I saw the gun waver and suddenly I knew what I had to do. I took a step towards him and then another, stopping only when I could feel the chill of the barrel through my shirt as it pressed against my chest. "I have faith in you, Sherlock. You won't pull the trigger, no matter what hold Moriarty believes he has over you. You are a good man, a strong man, and I know I am safe with you. Nothing he says will ever make me fear you." I spoke slowly and clearly, looking into his unblinking gaze and trying with every word to communicate my complete trust in his abilities and as I spoke his eyes cleared and his gaze slowly became more focussed.

With a convulsive jerk of his wrist he hurled the gun away from him and threw himself at Moriarty, his hands outstretched as he tried to wrap them around the diabolical creature's throat. I scrabbled in the darkness for my revolver, not wishing to tear my eyes away from the struggle before me but knowing that the gun was our only hope of killing this foul creature. No matter how furious Holmes was or how skilled he was in a fight, only silver would end the monster's reign and I had a full load of that precious metal in my revolver. This was the second time I had needed silver bullets. I would have to manufacture another batch soon; they were turning out to be more useful than I could ever have imagined.

Finally, my fingers closed around the familiar handle of my Beaumont-Adams and I brought it up in the direction of the melee. Dropping to one knee I held it steady, waiting for an opportunity to fire, but Holmes and Moriarty were locked so closely in combat I did not dare take a shot for fear of hitting the wrong man.

I watched the fight with my heart in my throat and a growing sense of horror as it became clear that Holmes' fury was no match for Moriarty's inhuman strength and speed. I could barely breathe as Moriarty slowly overpowered my companion, forcing him to his knees and using Holmes body as a shield. I still did not dare take a shot, but what other option did I have? I saw Moriarty's eyes flash as they became more demonic and his fangs extended beyond his narrow, pinched lips. He was going to bite Holmes again and this time there would be no interruption. Lestrade and his men were under orders not to intervene until Moriarty was dead; Holmes would not risk any more casualties in this war.

In my mind I could see how it would play out. Moriarty would drink from my friend and then force his own blood into Holmes' mouth, turning him into another foul creature of the night and there would be nothing I could do but watch... I quickly checked my revolver – six bullets, more than enough. My fear left me and I calmly aimed the gun again. I would bide my time and if there was a chance to kill Moriarty I would take it. I would wait as long as I could and if he managed to turn Holmes before I could kill him then I would shoot both of them. I know Holmes would never wish to live like that, so I would put two bullets in each of them, one in the head and one in the heart. And when I was sure they were not going to rise again I would use a final bullet on myself.


	12. Sherlock Holmes

I had sensed it the moment Moriarty entered the building and was gratified to see how rapidly my stalwart companion reacted to my stillness and how certainly he drew his revolver to point in the direction I was staring even though I could barely make out the form of our enemy in the darkness and I know the good Doctor's eyesight has never had the same acuity as mine. He must have been aiming based only on my own reactions.

When Moriarty began to speak I felt the familiar pull towards him with horror. Too late I realised that Watson would, as always, wait for my signal before taking action and that this time there was no way I would be able to give that signal. Had I been obviously in danger I have no doubt my friend would have acted to save me, but the kind of danger I was currently facing was not one that could be seen.

I was sure that we had lost when Moriarty compelled me to take the gun and point it at Watson and I watched, as if imprisoned within my own body, as he moved towards me and pressed himself against the barrel of his own gun. I wanted to scream at the fool to run, to leave me and save himself. It was my own weakness that had put us in this position, my inability to resist the siren call of Moriarty's voice, and Watson should not be forced to suffer because of it, although I know it would have done no good as my dearest friend would never abandon me.

When Watson professed his faith in me it was as if the words had shivered the wall between us as completely as a hammer blow smashes a pane of glass and suddenly my body and my actions were my own again.

Faith is a strange thing. Its very definition is a belief in something unseen and as such it is an anathema to everything I have built my life around. My deductions may seem like magic to the dunderheads who hang on the Doctor's every line, and eagerly await each new episode in the adventures of Sherlock Holmes, but each one is based on something I have seen or touched or recorded with one of my other senses. Everything I say or do is based on some concrete fact, some provable supposition, and yet I would still say I was a man of faith. Not necessarily in the Almighty, I have not yet reached a decision on whether I believe in some kind of Supreme being nor whether my belief would matter to such a person, nor in any abstract concept of justice, despite my chosen profession. The guilty are not always punished nor the innocent vindicated; if I could come to a firm conclusion on the existence of God perhaps my belief in justice might be bolstered as I could believe the guilty would eventually, in some way, be punished. However, the one thing I have always had, and will always have, faith in, is Doctor John Henry Watson.

For some reason, faith is also one of the strongest weapons against a vampire. It was Watson's faith in me that had freed me from Moriarty's spell and now it was to be my faith in the good Doctor which would change the course of the fight at the last moment. Without thought for the consequences, and for once with no logical plan in my head, I threw myself at my nemesis, fury driving my actions and clouding my mind. He had wished to kill Watson and more to make me the instrument of his death and for that alone Moriarty had to die, preferably with my hands wrapped around his throat. Of course, as I had earlier explained to Watson, strangulation would not be fatal to the monster and had I had my wits around me I would have simply made sure I was out of the firing line and allowed my companion to dispatch him with a shot from his trusty revolver, but I was beyond all rationality and thereby endangered my own life and almost certainly Watson's, for I have no doubt he would have risked his to save mine if he thought it would do any good.

I fought for as long as I could but eventually I had to succumb to the inevitable. Moriarty's inhuman strength overcame my fury and he pulled me against him with my back to his chest, wrapping one arm around my torso to pin my arms in place and keep me from escaping. He turned us so that I was a shield between his body and Watson's revolver and I admit that at that point I felt that the fight was truly lost and Moriarty would have his way. I could only be relieved that by turning me he would surely lose his chance to murder Watson.

Our eyes met across the darkened room and despite the gloom I fancied that I could see not only regret but a firm resolve in my dear friend's eyes. Moriarty might succeed in converting me this time, but his victory would be short lived as the moment I was no longer human, Watson would end my life and my assailants with his revolver. I would trust Watson's aim and skill with a revolver against even a vampire's unnatural speed. Moriarty would not leave this place to continue his reign of terror; Watson would make sure of that.

And then everything changed.

As Moriarty bent to sink his fangs into my neck, he encountered the chain I always wear and hissed and twisted away from it. As quick as lightning my brain finally reasserted its superiority over my emotions and I knew what I had to do. His grip had loosened with the movement, leaving one of my arms almost free, so I reached up and seized the locket, pushing it towards him and forcing him to release me entirely to escape it. This time I was not foolish enough to get in Watson's way and instead dropped to the floor and rolled to one side, leaving a clear line of sight between the Doctor and Moriarty.

Three shots sounded, echoing like thunder in the small room and I pushed myself up to my knees in time to see Watson crossing the room in three long strides until he was towering over the recumbent form of the vampire. Standing over him he fired once more, flinching minutely as the action caused blood, bone, and other matter to spray across the walls and stain the Doctor's trousers. He had put a final bullet in the monster's brain to ensure that he would not rise again.

And then, almost without seeming to move, he was kneeling at my side, his gun tucked back into his belt and his fingers running over my neck, searching for wounds. Dimly I registered the arrival of Lestrade's men as the room filled with chaos and large feet trampling around the scene, but my entire focus was on the man beside me.

"I am unharmed, John." Keeping my voice soft so that we could not be overheard I continued, "You may check me for injuries once we are safely home again, my friend, but for now you will have to take my word for it. Now help me to my feet before Lestrade sees us both on the floor and fears the worst."

I had barely finished speaking when Lestrade was beside us, concern creasing his features. I held my hand up to forestall him. "I am fine, Inspector, merely exhausted from the struggle and a little bruised as I fell to the ground in order to allow Watson a clear shot at the fiend."

"Well, he made a good job of it," the Inspector said with a broad smile, assisting Watson in helping me to my feet again as he spoke. "The shots to the heart were as nice a grouping as you could wish to see and the final shot may have been overkill, but better that than risking him healing. I'd probably have insisted on something like that before allowing my men to move the body anyway."

I nodded, still fatigued from the fight and my travels over recent days, not to mention the last three years of sleepless nights. "It seems fitting somehow that such a treacherous creature was finally defeated by faith," I mused. Continuing when Lestrade looked blank to explain that, "Vampires cannot bear to touch symbols of faith. It was Moriarty's abhorrence of my locket that allowed me to break free of him and gave Watson the shot he needed. If you ever encounter one again I would recommend investing in a cross, Inspector." I smiled and tilted my head. "Or perhaps in your case a badge of the Metropolitan Police Force would do."

Lestrade chuckled. "And what is it you carry, Mr Holmes? I would never have pegged you as a religious man."

I shook my head, smiling more enigmatically now. "I am not, in the usual course of things, and as to what is contained within my locket, I believe that it isn't done to discuss one's beliefs in polite society, Inspector."

"Fine, fine, keep it to yourself, Mr Holmes. I apologise for prying. Now I'm going to get this creature carted off to the morgue. I suggest the two of you go home and get some rest. Perhaps I can call on you tomorrow and let you know about the finer details of the clean up?"

I shook his hand, not wishing him to believe me offended by his questions about my locket. "Indeed. Mrs Hudson is waiting across the street, eager to be assured of our safety and I am sure she could be prevailed upon to provide tea and then a warm bed for the night. I shall be moving back into my rooms directly and I shall hope to prevail upon the good Doctor to abandon his new accommodation and rejoin me there as soon as possible, so we shall no doubt be engaged all day tomorrow." Remembering my earlier resolution I clapped him firmly on the shoulder as we emerged into the street once more. "But perhaps if you have time you could join us for dinner tomorrow evening? I can assure you Mrs Hudson is a very good cook and then we can discuss the case more and you can provide Watson with any details he wants for his account of the affair."

Lestrade was surprised by my invitation, but hid it manfully, returning my smile warmly. "I should be delighted Mr Holmes. Doctor Watson." He tipped his hat and returned to the scene of the crime to supervise his detectives, and I leant a little more firmly on Watson's arm, allowing him to support me as we crossed the street and ascended the seventeen stairs to our home once more.


	13. Doctor Watson

Normally a patient man, I was hard pushed to contain my frustration as Mrs Hudson fussed over the two of us. It seemed that I would never be able to get Holmes alone. In the end I firmly but politely shooed her out of the room, telling her that I believed Holmes was exhausted and that while he would happily use her as an excuse to refrain from retiring it would be in the interests of his health to get some sleep sooner rather than later. The trick worked perfectly and she sent Holmes such a look of reproof that it was all I could do not to laugh out loud. No doubt Holmes will enact revenge upon me at some later date for the exaggeration, but since I had successfully achieved my aim I was not going to worry about that yet.

Once she was gone he turned to look at me, a long-suffering expression on his face. "That was most unfair, Watson. She is already planning to lecture me tomorrow morning on using her as an excuse to avoid resting and I shall have to endure it out of politeness or risk revealing your deception."

I stalked towards him, pinning him against the sitting room door and then reached past him to lock it. "I shall endeavour to make it up to you, Sherlock. I find I am not in the mood to be sociable right at this moment and you know she would have stood there listening to you boast about the case all night if I had not intervened."

"If you do not wish for company, my dear Watson, perhaps I should retire and leave you alone?" Holmes suggested, a smile playing around his lips.

"Oh you should definitely retire, Sherlock," I told him firmly. "But I shall be coming with you. I intend to check every inch of you for injuries." I kissed him hungrily, forcing my tongue between his narrow lips and plundering his mouth before withdrawing. "And then I'm going to spread your long, elegant legs and swallow you whole," I added with a grin, knowing that he loved to hear me describe what I intended to do to him. On occasion I had succeeded in making him release without having to lay a finger on him by simply telling him the perverted things I wished to do to his delectable body.

His eyes glazed over for a second and then he framed my face with his hands and kissed me, pushing himself away from the door as he did so and guiding me toward the stairs. "You inflame me when you say such things, John. Take me to bed. I need to feel you in my arms. Show me that I am finally home once more."

I do so enjoy pushing Holmes beyond the limits of his formidable self-control. Feeling him tremble in my arms though, I realised that it was at least partly due to fatigue, so I chose not to tease him further and instead stepped away from him, holding out my hand and leading him to the bedroom. "I give you my solemn word that by the time morning comes, you will have no doubts that you are back where you belong."

Once we were inside the bedroom I closed the door behind me and kissed him once more. "Disrobe for me, Sherlock. I wish to watch as you reveal yourself."

He groaned softly but did not demur. Holmes knows that I love to watch him and since he has never been averse to putting on a show, he frequently indulges my perversions and will not only undress for me but will often touch himself as well, until I am unable to hold back any longer and must replace his hands with my own. We would not be able to indulge in such games tonight, the evening's exertions having taken a toll on both of us, but soon, I promised myself, soon we would have time alone to do whatever we wished.

Slowly, he unfastened his collar and cuffs, letting the studs and cufflinks fall into the china dish on his dressing table with a clinking sound. The collar was rolled and placed into a case and then the necktie was slowly unfastened and draped over the back of a chair. With a mischievous smile in my direction, Holmes sat down and crossed his legs so that he could unlace one of his shoes before toeing it off and crossing them in the other direction so that he could remove the second. His socks were then rolled up and dropped in the laundry hamper. Standing back up he slowly unfastened his pocket watch and laid it next to the dish which held his collar studs. He slid his jacket down his arms and laid it on top of the necktie and then began working the buttons of his waistcoat through the buttonholes.

His every movement was unhurried and exuded a studied casualness, designed to engender lust. When he finally unfastened the last one he took it off and actually insisted on folding it before piling it on top of his jacket. I growled under my breath and he had the audacity to laugh.

"Are you not enjoying yourself, my dear Doctor?" His lips were twitching with mirth as he teased me and I was delighted to see it. Holmes in a light-hearted mood was a rare sight.

"If you do not endeavour to disrobe a trifle faster, my dear Sherlock, I may be forced to take drastic action and rip whatever clothing remains from your body so that I may have my wicked way with you."

Holmes shuddered and his eyes darkened even further. His movements turned rapid and he slipped his braces from his shoulders, unfastening his shirt buttons with much less smoothness than he had his waistcoat buttons. Soon his shirt joined the growing pile of clothing on the chair and his trousers joined them in short order.

I did not give him time to open his underwear, instead crossing the room in eager strides and making good on my promise to tear his clothing from him. He groaned and seized my face, pressing up against me eagerly and kissing me once more.

"Do not tempt me to emulate you, John. You have no change of clothes here and I do not want to have to explain to Mrs Hudson why you are haunting the sitting room in my dressing gown while I return to your erstwhile dwelling to retrieve something for you to wear." He kissed me again and began unfastening my own buttons with unseemly haste.

My fingers joined his and together we managed to remove my vestments without damaging anything. As soon as I was naked I pushed Holmes backwards, urging him down onto the bed and covering him with my body. Our tongues tangled for long moments and it seemed that neither one of us could get enough of the other. Eventually though we broke apart and I straddled his narrow hips, running my fingers gently over the scar on the side of his neck. "Are you truly unscathed, Sherlock?"

He leant into my touch and smiled. "I promise, John. There is not a mark on me that was not there before tonight. Thanks to your quick actions, Moriarty was defeated without the opportunity to cause any more harm." He caught my hand with his own and brought it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the palm. "I must beg your forgiveness for my own actions. I let emotion overcome me when I attacked him and endangered both of us by preventing you from shooting him as you no doubt would have done the second you retrieved your revolver. It was unpardonable."

I kissed him softly. "Holmes, you had only just broken free of his control and were naturally disturbed by what he had tried to force you to do. A lapse into irrationality is only to be expected. When the moment came you managed to remove yourself from my line of fire and allowed me to dispatch him in the manner we had planned."

Closing his eyes, Holmes pulled me down to rest against his chest. "I thought he was going to force me to kill you. I could not bear to lose you like that."

I pulled his arm more closely around me and kissed the nearest patch of skin. "I know the feeling very well, my love. I thought that he was going to turn you into one of his kind and that it would fall to me to execute both of you." I kept to myself my plan to end my own life after I had done so, to reveal it would only cause Holmes more guilt and I had no wish to add to his burden.

Rolling us over so that he was pressing my body into the mattress with the weight of his own, Holmes kissed me, his locket brushing against my chest as he did so. "And yet in the end we triumphed," he said, finally smiling once more. "Because we had faith."

Before I could ask what he meant by that enigmatic pronouncement his mouth was on mine again and the earlier hunger had returned in full force. He rubbed up against me, his hard member pushing against my own and suddenly I could wait no longer. I needed to have him falling apart beneath me right now. I pushed against the mattress with one braced foot and rolled us back to where we had been, resuming my position straddling him. Pinning his thin wrists to the pillow above his head with one hand I used the other to slowly explore his chest, pinching and rolling first one nipple and then the other between my fingers until his breath was coming in unsteady gasps.

"Leave your hands where I put them and do not move," I instructed him firmly. When he simply nodded rather than agreeing verbally, I smirked. As far as I know I am the only man who has ever been able to render the great Sherlock Holmes speechless and it was a power I revelled in.

I slid further down his body, retracing the path my fingers had recently taken with my lips. His nipples have always been one of his most sensitive erogenous zones so I paid them special attention, suckling on them like a child one moment and sharply biting down the next until his head was shifting restlessly from side to side.

I smiled against his skin and continued my journey, slowly tracing the curves and planes with my tongue and even dipping it teasingly into his navel. We had not taken the time to bathe this evening and he tasted a little of sweat from his earlier exertions, but I have never minded the taste of good honest sweat. Eventually I reached my destination and I pulled back to look at his hard member, licking my lips at the thought of what I planned to do next.

Ignoring my earlier instructions, Holmes reached for me, trying to tug me back up his body, but I resisted. I had missed this act when I thought I would never have the opportunity to perform it again and I fully intended to remedy that tonight.

"Please, John," he begged. "Turn around and let me taste you at the same time. I didn't have the chance to please you last night and I crave the feel of you under my hands."

I moaned and rested my forehead briefly against his thigh as I fought to regain control over my traitorous body. As long as I could taste him I had no objections to his plan so I hurriedly pushed the sheets and blankets out of the way and turned around, kneeling over him so that I could reach his member while giving him full access to my own. This was not the easiest position to give and receive pleasure since Holmes was several inches taller than I, but we had learnt through experience the best way to manage and the years since I had last had him in my bed like this had not erased that knowledge.

I savoured the size and weight of him in my mouth, wrapping my lips around the head and sucking before pulling back and exploring the heavy length of him with my tongue. At the same time I could feel his agile fingers rolling my aching testicles and his hot mouth slowly engulfing me.

The sensation was divine and it was almost enough to divert me from my own task. I wanted to thrust into his talented mouth so much, but in this position I could easily choke him so instead I forced myself to concentrate on his pleasure, taking him back in my mouth and slowly swallowing him until the head rested against the back of my throat. Despite the time that had passed since I had last done this I did not feel the need to resist his penetration and found it quite easy to suppress the feeling of being suffocated that a foreign body in one's throat normally provokes.

Neither of us was in the mood for a lengthy performance tonight and soon our endeavours developed into a competition to see who could make their lover release first. Holmes has often boasted of his iron will, but I knew all the best tricks to make him lose control and it was only a short time later that I heard his cry of satisfaction and felt the bitter taste of his seed as it flooded my mouth. I pulled back and swallowed hurriedly, continuing to tease his softening flesh with my tongue, hoping to prolong his pleasure as much as possible.

I knew Holmes had recovered when I felt his hands gripping my hips, holding me in place as he returned to his task with renewed fervour. With nothing left to distract me I rested my forehead on his hip and gave myself over to the pleasure. Whereas I loved to swallow Holmes down, he preferred to tease me with almost feline laps of his tongue. The pointed muscle would dart out and taste me, rubbing against the slit or tracing the prominent vein on the underside until I was shaking with desire. Only then would he wrap his lips around the head and suck. Even knowing what was to come, this loving torment was almost more than I could bear and yet, as always, it made me release with such energy that my vision would blur and spots would dance in front of my eyes.

When I was done I collapsed to one side, my face hidden against Holmes' hip and one arm slung carelessly over his stomach until he gently urged me to turn around and pulled me into his arms. I held him close and nuzzled his neck, enjoying the sensation of his evening's growth of whiskers prickling against my skin.

Noticing something else I pulled back and ran one finger along the golden chain that held his locket firmly around his neck. I propped myself on one elbow and looked down at him curiously. "I could not help but notice you deftly avoided Lestrade's enquiry," I said casually, hoping I was not betraying my intense curiosity but well aware that the likelihood of being able to conceal such a thing from my friend was low.

Holmes laughed softly. "And you are wondering if I would answer it now that we are alone and reveal what article of faith I wear close to my heart?"

I felt my skin flush slightly as he instantly saw through my ruse, but I nodded anyway. "You said earlier that we had survived tonight because of faith. I know that it was, in part, my belief in you which gave you the strength to resist Moriarty's commands, but what is it that you have such faith in that he recoiled from it allowing me to end his miserable existence?"

The enigmatic smile was back again and I had almost resigned myself to never knowing when Holmes wriggled free from my embrace and sat up, deftly unfastening the catch of the locket and turning it towards me.

"The one thing I have always had faith in, my very dear John," he told me softly, smiling fondly as I stared wordlessly at the tiny miniature within, noting with pleasure the inscription opposite it on the inside of the lid. '1881. JHW.'


End file.
